


Slain

by the1crazycatlady



Series: Love of My Un-Death [7]
Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms, Dracula: Entre l'amour et la mort - Leclerc/Tabra/Ouzounian & Pelletier
Genre: Cemetery, Confrontations, Escape, F/M, Hunted Vampires, Invasion of Privacy, M/M, Souled Vampire(s), Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Vampires, ultimatum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 13:55:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6378730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the1crazycatlady/pseuds/the1crazycatlady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The vampire hunters break into Renfield's flat, only to find that Renfield and Dracula have left. Meanwhile, in a cemetery, the Count and Renfield address the issues they have been having.</p><p>(Part 7/7)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**_Continued, Same Night_ **

_What just happened?_

One minute, Johnathon had been running into Renfield's apartment like a barbarian, ready to save his friend from whatever atrocities he had met up with in the time away. Renfield had been on the fire escape, holding Count Wallachia's hands and looking bewilderedly back into the flat. Then Renfield had then started to recoil and Johnathon saw the distinctive teeth that revealed him as a monster. He'd rushed forward, ready to destroy Renfield and that damned Count, and Renfield had turned to Wallachia, nodding. Then he'd stepped onto the fire escape balcony rail and looked back; his face had been so calm and satisfied, and it set Johnathon off-guard.

And Renfield had said something, it seemed. But it didn't make any sense: “I don't need help anymore.” But of course he did – he was a drug addict, and the tampons...the Count – he _did_ need help, didn't he?

The others ran past him and crowded around the window. They screamed at the retreating forms of Renfield and the Count, then turned back to Johnathon. “We have to go after them! Before they get away!”

“Wait,” Johnathon found himself saying; they all stared at him like he was crazy.

That doctor fellow started to ask what was going on and who the hell they all were - Johnathon left the others to explain. Lying propped up next to the fold-out bed was a not-entirely-shut laptop. It was pure chance, not to mention a complete disruption of Renfield's privacy, but he decided to screw it and picked up the computer. He sat down at the bar and pulled up the screen.

By sheer luck, it was still logged on. Currently, the computer was open to a photo-viewing gallery. Johnathon shuddered, glancing over at Lucy and closing the window before he could see anything more.

He opened Google and stared at the screen until he saw the bookmarks tab. There was YouTube, some website that sold photography equipment, and a few other things. A Facebook page, for example.

He clicked on that and a smiling, happy woman greeted him. She had sandy red hair with grey streaks in it and eyes hauntingly similar to Renfield's. She was holding her hands up, and they had Clawz on them.

“Jaine Renfield,” he read. The latest post was from a couple days ago: “Just got the remodeling job done on my salon! See pics here.” The "here" was a link to another Facebook page.

Looking through more pictures, he mostly saw the woman trimming people's hair. There were also a few shots of her with a man he could only assume was her husband. On a whim, he clicked a picture page from about ten years ago – just on a whim. It was Jaine Renfield again, with her arms wrapped around a gloomy-looking teenager.

Johnathon gasped quietly and expanded the image. The teenager was a girl with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and she had her arms folded tightly across her chest. Jaine Renfield's smile was strained, and the teenager didn't even bother trying to fake a grin.

_Renfield._

It only took another look at the bookmarks bar for everything to make sense.

Where he went to was a lifeline website. At the top of the page was a heading crowded with selfies; then there was a list of phone numbers and an explanation for the site. _“Trans Lifeline is a 501(c)3 non-profit dedicated to the well being of transgender people. We run a hotline staffed by transgender people for transgender people. Trans Lifeline volunteers are ready to respond to whatever support needs members of our community might have.”_

Johnathon paused, staring. He went back to the Facebook page and the teenager glowered at him. The child looked so sad, really, and so out of place. The caption read: “Me and my beautiful daughter Rebecca after a long day of quality Girl Time!”

The teenager seemed to grow more dour with each word.

“Oh, Renfield,” Johnathon muttered; things made sense now.

“Johnathon?” Mina asked from the kitchen. “What is it, dear?”

Johnathon wrapped his arms protectively around the laptop screen. “Nothing, Mina, nothing.” He looked back down at the picture and felt so...angry. Not at Renfield for hiding this from him, but at this woman for making her child look so upset. Renfield had never talked about his family, or anything about his life before meeting the journalist. And this picture... It was obvious that that teenager didn't want anything to do with their mother. They were furious with her.

Johnathon closed Google and flipped down the laptop screen. In the kitchen, Van Helsing and Lucy were dancing around an old coffin as they tried to find some actual real food for that poor doctor; Mina watched Johnathon and the vampiress seemed to have disappeared.

“Johnathon?” Mina said again. “Johnathon, what's wrong?”

He scooted the laptop away and shrugged, standing up. “Parents of this world, that's what.”

“What?”

“Nothing, dear.” He pulled her in for an embrace and kissed the top of her head. He hugged her close. “Nothing... Well, nothing we have to worry about...” He glanced over at Van Helsing and Lucy, head spinning.

“Renfield doesn't need help anymore,” he said. He thought about the other man, his old photographer, and inhaled the scent of Mina's rose perfume, he suddenly had a great, rushing urge to educate himself on gender identities and stop being an ignoramus in that department. Like his grandmother always told him, you learn something new every day, from the day you come out of the womb to the day you enter your tomb. He wondered what Renfield would think of it-

“How do you know?” Lucy wondered, bringing him out of the foggy imaginings concocted by Mina's perfume. Johnathon blinked and pulled away from Mina, shrugging.

“He told me so,” he said.

“And you're going to believe a _vampire?”_   Van Helsing asked, shaking his head.

“Vampire?” the doctor cut in. “What?”

“Yes,” Johnathon said, ignoring him. “I am.”

Van Helsing made a disgruntled noise and glared down at the coffin. The doctor went off-balance again and Lucy steered him over to the bar, where she told him to lie his head down and relax. “I'm sure you've been through a terrible shock, sir,” she remarked.

After staring at Lucy in fond admiration for a moment, the doctor passed out.

“The vampire aspect is the least of Renfield's worries,” Johnathon explained to everyone. Then he took his seat at the bar again and glanced out the window; there were stars out in the sky that night. “He says he doesn't need help anymore.” He looked down. “And I believe him. So call me crazy all you like, but I think we should leave him alone. It's Renfield's life, and maybe he doesn't want us following after him all the way across Europe.”

“I agree with Johnathon,” Lucy piped up - Van Helsing gaped at her.

“ _What?”_ he asked.

“Father, this is precisely what I'm talking about,” she argued, “when mention freedom. It's _my_ life, and I don't think anyone should have any say in that, not even my father.”

 _“Lucy,”_ Van Helsing groaned.

“I'm just saying that if someone wants people to leave him or her alone and let them live his or her own life, then who are we to interfere with those wishes?”

“You all saw just as well as I that Renfield is a vampire.” Van Helsing looked around. “Speaking of, where's that monster-woman?”

The apartment was so small that a search of it took hardly any time; the vampiress was crouched on the floor of the bathroom, brushing her fingers along it distractedly. Van Helsing pulled out the salt and prepared to lock the demon in a ring, but Lucy grabbed his sleeve and told him to “leave her alone.” This made Van Helsing sigh aggravatedly and turn to leave.

Then the vampiress began to cry her bloody tears once again. "They were here." She draped herself over the bathtub rim and curled up into a small little ball, clutching a fist to her chest. Van Helsing made another sigh and she jumped, whirling around and putting the fist to her lips.

“Have-Have you c-c-come to destroy me?” she choked out. Mina rested her head on Johnathon's shoulder and then backed away. Johnathon glanced back at the vampiress, then at Van Helsing and Lucy; he walked over to Mina and took her hand.

When Van Helsing and Lucy came back, the sobbing in the bathroom was louder and Van Helsing had a perplexed look on his face; Lucy was somber.

“Let's get out of this place,” Van Helsing muttered. “I don't want to see another vampire again as long as I live.”

Lucy smiled at him and kissed his cheek. He flushed, then awkwardly patted her shoulder.

Johnathon glanced over at Mina and she smiled at him; he smiled back weakly and then looked back to the open window. Somewhere out there, Renfield and Count Wallachia were running for their lives – or Un-Deaths, he should say. He wondered when and if they'd ever stop.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Meanwhile_ **

The cemetery reminded Dracula of an ocean. Grass stretched out in all directions, only stopped by foreign objects like the trees, Gothic architecture, and attacking moss. Renfield tumbled down to the ground, rolling into the marker for the grave of a Roberta Kristeen Lewis; Dracula crouched down next to him.

“Are you all right?” he whispered. Renfield shoved him away and the Count fell back, cringing as the minor feelings of pain crept through his body.

“What are we doing _here?”_ Renfield asked, rubbing his arm. Dracula turned his head to look at him.

“They shan't expect us on holy ground,” he replied.

“Isn't that because it _repels_ vampires?”

Dracula sighed. “We shall only stay a small bit, Renfield – nothing shall happen in a short time period. The forgotten sinners will protect us-”

“How do you know?” Renfield wondered. “You _are_ hurting, aren't you?”

“Of course I am!” Dracula shot back. “But 'tis...'tis nothing that is unbearable for a short time.”

“There's no need to get defensive,” Refield remarked. Dracula sat up, ripping grass out of the earth; he threw it at Renfield because it kept him from doing something worse.

“What the hell?” Renfield started to brush the grass away, cringing and wincing. “That hurts, Dracula.”

The Count's face fell and his cold, lifeless heart jammed itself up in his throat. “What, 'tis Dracula again?”

“And why not?” Renfield shot back.

Dracula stammered. “But-but-but I thought you...me...we, us!...”

Renfield groaned. “Dracula, stop it.”

“I want to know what happened!”

“What happened?” Renfield repeated, voice shrill in the chilly night air. “First you gave me that Look - _again_ \- and then you tried to strangle my therapist!”

“He was holding us back,” Dracula protested, ignoring the first part of the accusation, “trying to keep us from getting away! They...the others...they...”

Renfield wouldn't hear it. “You tried to strangle my therapist!”

“We needed to escape!”

“You were going to fucking _kill_ him!”

“For you!” Dracula cried. “Just so we could get away!”

Renfield shook his head. “Is that supposed to be some sort of excuse?”

“I just...wanted him to learn a lesson...” Speaking, Dracula could see how very lame his words were and he drifted off. He began to brush away some grass that had managed to creep into his hair and winced now and then when there was a particularly terrible pain.

“I wanted to get away from Elhemina, Renfield,” he whispered. “I just wanted to get away from her.”

Renfield looked at him like he was an utter madman. “What the hell? You're _obsessed_ with her, Dracula. Isn't that what you told me? That you'd loved her for over five-”

“That was before I met you!” Dracula cried. He turned away and started trembling. “Everything changed when I met you, Renfield...everything...” He looked between his legs, down at the lethal grass. He swallowed. “Renfield, I think I lo-”

Renfield cut him off. “Don't say it, Vlad. Whatever you do, don't say it.”

Dracula looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “Why...why not?”

“Because...” Renfield paused and looked up at the sky. “Because it will complicate things, that's why.”

“But how can it do that?” Dracula raised his head and got on his hands and knees, crawling over to Renfield and grabbing the other man's protesting hand. “How can the simple truth do that, beloved?”

“Because it will, okay?” Renfield yanked his hand away and leaned back into Roberta Kristeen Lewis's gravestone. “Look, you said you'd let me go now, didn't you? Now that we're safe or whatever.”

“Yes, yes, _yes,”_ Dracula said, nodding his head and gesticulating around at the headstones and the trees and the Gothic architecture. “You can. I will not hold you back, you are no longer my prisoner – but dear, _dear_ beloved, I want you to stay so much. I would do anything for you.”

Renfield stared straight ahead, completely quiet, then glanced over at the Count, his eyes quietly smiling. “Anything?”

Dracula paused, looking around. He rubbed his hands together and nodded slowly, leaning forward and resting his head on Renfield's shoulder. “Anything,” he whispered.

Renfield pushed him away. “Then stop killing everything that annoys you and _please_ stop acting so weird about my freaking gender or – I swear to God – it's you who'll be leaving because I will _kick_ you out of my life so I don't have to deal with your fucking shit anymore.”

Dracula choked. “You mean you would send me away?”

“That's what I said, Vlad.”

The Count drew in a breath and glanced down at the ground. He licked his lips, panting quietly and shaking his head to get rid of the buzzing in his ears. “All right,” he muttered. Renfield stared at him a moment, then nodded, smiling.

“You'd better.” He grabbed Dracula's arm and they stood up.

Dracula looked down at his feet. "I have been trying, Renfield, I have been." He paused. "I shall try harder so that it may be as it was before."

Renfield nodded and tugged on the Count's arm. “Come on then,” he said. “Let's go.”

Dracula blinked at him, then glanced warily over his shoulder. “Renfield-”

“Um, Vlad?" Renfield interrupted.

"Yes, beloved?"

"So you know for future ref-reference, like, if I end up in the hospital again or-or something...” Renfield took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair, relaxing and absentmindedly rubbing his inner elbow. "My legal name is Rebecca.”

Dracula froze. He blinked and slowly turned his head to face Renfield; the other man was looking down at the ground, hair falling down all over the place. The moon made Renfield's skin glow and he looked like an angel.

Dracula reached out and slid his arms around him. Renfield started, arms spread out like he was trying to take flight, and Dracula sobbed into his chest.

“Vlad,” Renfield muttered. “You're going to get blood on my shirt.”

But the Count's eyes were perfectly dry. “Rebecca,” he repeated. “Oh, my beautiful love, my beloved.” He sniffed, burrowing deeper into Renfield's chest. “It does not suit you.”

"Glad you think so," Renfield mumbled, "because I hate it."

Then Renfield heaved a great sigh and pulled his arms in, engulfing the Count in warmth and tender darkness. Everything was safe now – they were safe and everything would be safe. Renfield forgave the Count for what had happened.

For as long as Dracula could remember, he was supposed to be strong. He was the one who kept everything in order and balanced: that was what was required of him as the voivode and Prince of Wallachia. But now he was on the other side of things, with Renfield being the strong one. Not that Renfield was strong, not really, but he was holding up to things better - he was hugging Dracula close, despite the flaws, and it was so nice and tight and warm. Dracula coughed quietly and closed his eyes.

He spoke into Renfield's chest, words slurred and almost inaudible in the midst of folds. “Я люблю тебе назавжди , мій Ренфільда.”

“What?” Renfield asked. Dracula pulled away and looked the other man straight in the eye.

“I love you forever,” he said again, “my Renfield.”

Renfield blinked at him long and hard, then swallowed. He put a hand on the back of Dracula's head and the Count put his head back on Renfield's chest, closing his eyes and finally beginning to cry.

Then he realized something: as much as he liked kissing Renfield over dead bodies and being there for him when he woke up after his nightmare and holding him so he'd feel safe and secure, there was nothing in the world like being wrapped tight in his arms. It made Dracula feel like he was actually _there_ and _real,_ not just some horrible phantom spirit condemned to walk the earth for all eternity. He was wanted - even if only a short while - and he was loved.

“I know, Vlad.” Renfield pulled away and Dracula reluctantly released himself from the embrace. Renfield reached over and clasped the Count's face, then leaned forward and began to lick at the blood on his cheeks. That just made Dracula cry harder, but laugh a little; Renfield shook his head and pulled away. “I know you do.”


	3. Chapter 3

**_July 23rd, 2050_ **

The house was small and square, with cutesy little flowers along the front porch that were dancing because of a slight wind, slowly moving back and forth in a lulling waltz. Renfield glanced back down at the phonebook in his hands. It was covered in graffiti because he and Dracula had stolen it from a public call box; he slammed the book shut and shoved it into the Count's arms.

“Is this the place?” Dracula asked quietly.

“Should be,” Renfield replied, walking up to the door, “if we read the maps in that book right.”

Dracula glanced down at the phonebook, then stuck it under one arm and followed after Renfield. “You do know that we cannot enter without invitation, right, beloved?” He was a little bit annoyed and angry at Renfield for dragging him halfway across a country he didn't know and nearly getting them in trouble for stealing a public phonebook, but he shook his head and reminded himself that Renfield was doing his best in their haywire situation; he put a hand on Renfield's shoulder and pulled himself forward to him.

“Yes, Vlad.” Renfield knocked on the door. There was some grumbling and a thud and Dracula gave Renfield a worried look; the other man was acting completely calm, nervousness only revealed through his act of rubbing at his inner elbow.

The door swung open and Dracula's eyes involuntarily widened. The man on the other side of the door looked at them, face grubby with the sad beginnings of a beard and eyes completely bloodshot. Dracula licked his lips and glanced over at Renfield - the other man had suddenly frozen.

“Um-Um-Um,” Renfield stammered; he took a deep breath. “Hi.”

The man just stared at them droopily.

Renfield gave him a wobbly smile. “St-Still don't talk much, do you, Dan-Danny?”

The man blinked at him, and then his eyes perked up and he developed more of a posture. “R.M.?”

Renfield glanced over at Dracula. “No-No one's called me that in years.”

“R.M.!” The man smiled and pulled the door open wider. “Come in, come in."

Dracula released a pent-up sigh of relief and followed Renfield inside. There, it was dark and rather reminded the Count of a museum for long-forgotten worthless junk. However, he decided to keep quiet and politely took a seat next to Renfield on the couch. He flipped through the phonebook awkwardly and waited to be formally introduced.

“Danny,” Renfield said, “this is Vlad.” He elbowed Dracula in the ribs. “Vlad, that's Danny.”

The Danny man was sitting in a chair across the room, so he and the Count were too far apart for a formal handshake; Dracula smiled and nodded at him. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

Danny seemed to be the quiet, broody type; he nodded and then asked in a remarkably short amount of words what Dracula and Renfield were doing there at his house.

Renfield took a deep breath and Dracula turned back to the phonebook.

“Vlad's a W-Wallachian nobleman,” Renfield explained, “and-and his, um, his visa here is about to expire. A-And we were having problems finding a train in London that was going back in that direction, so-so we thought we'd try this part of England, and-”

“I only travel by train or ship,” Dracula commented, looking up from an ad for a dentistry establishment. “I suffer from crippling air nausea, and-”

“We need a place to stay!” Renfield interrupted. “And-And-And, well, I know it's been a long time and all, but...”

“Last time I saw you,” Danny said, “I'd taken you to the hospital because of the drugs. Then you were mad since I called your parents.”

Dracula glanced over at Renfield; the other man turned away and rubbed at his cheek.

“I w-was pretty messed-up,” Renfield mumbled. “B-But it's over.” He looked down at his lap and clenched his thighs together. “Over,” he whispered.

Dracula looked down at the phonebook, then scooted closer to Renfield and put a hand on his shoulder. He squeezed and the Danny man looked away awkwardly, standing up.

“There's room in the basement,” he said abruptly. “Hang on, I'll get sleeping bags.”

Danny left and Dracula licked his lips, smiling behind a curtain of black hair. “As if they shall be slept in,” he whispered. Renfield laughed quietly and gently pushed him away.

“Vlad, please,” he breathed between giggles. “You're killing me.”

Dracula looked at him squarely and blinked a few times. “But how can I do that, beloved, when thou art already dead?”

Renfield rolled his eyes, shaking his head. Then he put a hand on the Count's leg and stared at him. “You freaking slay me, Vlad Tzepes.”

Danny came back then and Renfield slid his hand away, standing up. “Thanks, Danny. This-This means a lot to me, y-y-you know.”

Danny nodded and gestured for them to follow after him; Renfield took the pillows and shoved one into Dracula's arms, grabbing his wrist and pulling him off the couch.

They went down a dark, deserted hallway and came to a door; Danny opened it and flicked on a light that hurt the vampires' eyes. Reluctantly peeking over Renfield's tall shoulders, Dracula saw a large concrete room crammed with more worthless junk – hardly a worthy comparison to the rich castle the Count was accustomed to, but he kept quiet.

\+ + +

The small window got covered and a “do not disturb” sign was taped to the basement door; Danny left his guests and went back to bed.

Dracula stood off to the side of the cramped room, arms folded across his chest as he gave Renfield a blank, ponderous look.

Renfield held out his arms and leaned forward, clutching at the Count's hands and pulling him down. “Don't be so awkward, Vlad,” he said, letting go of Dracula and reaching down to pull off his shoes; “it's just until we can get a night ride back to Wallachia.”

“I know, Renfield...”

"Okay then." Renfield kicked his shoes off into a random corner.

Dracula sighed. "Renfield, I have been thinking.”

Renfield looked over at him and laid back. “What about?” He stared up at the ceiling and began to count the cracks. _One...two...three..._

Dracula regaraded him, then began to play with his hair. “Really, about those photographs in your apartment.”

“What?"

The Count brushed his hair out of his face. “They... They were very good, my love, and you...you really ought to continue with it.” He paused again. “If you enjoyed it, of course. Only if you enjoyed it.”

Renfield stared at him, trying to think of what to say. “Um-Um,” was what he eventually spluttered out. “This...is sudden.”

Dracula rubbed at the back of his neck. “I love you and want you to be happy, beloved.”

Renfield smiled and began to laugh quietly to himself.

“I hardly see how this is humorous,” the Count remarked.

“No, no, it-'s not you,” Renfield assured him. “It's just... This is so ridiculous. We've run away together and are currently hiding out in the basement of a guy's house and all you can think about are these really abstract things like love and happiness and stuff.” He smiled weakly and held up two fingers. “Peace, man.”

Dracula shook his head confusedly. “What is this?” He made the same hand symbol and Renfield hid his mouth with a shaking hand.

“N-Nothing. I'll tell you later.” He snickered, then cleared his throat and sat up.

“Look, Vlad.” Renfield put a hand on the Count's shoulder and took a deep breath. “It's great that you think that, it really is. But, honestly? Let's just focus on getting you out of the country before your visa expires, okay? We'll... We'll think about you. Then the other stuff."

Dracula frowned. “I think this is important, Renfield.”

Renfield tightened his hands into fists at his sides, then took a deep, quick breath and said: “Vlad, not now, okay? I just want to lie down."

"But, Renfield, this is important and I want you to listen now.”

“Vlad-”

“Renfield, I love you more than you can possibly ever know.” The Count put an arm around Renfield waist and squeezed him tight. “I love you so much, beloved.”

Renfield went limp and stared at the ground, his lips moving but nothing coming out.

“Relax, dear.” Dracula brushed Renfield's hair out of his face and kissed his cheek. “I shan't bite.”

Renfield smiled quietly to himself. “My life has become a never-ending supply of vampire jokes,” he muttered.

Dracula kissed him again. “I know you do not like talking about this, Renfield, but I feel as though it is important. I want you to be happy more than anything, and that is why I bring up your photography. I think you enjoyed it and really must insist that you do not let your Un-Death hold you back.”

He paused, letting everything sink into the cracks in the concrete so he could regain his breath.

He took Renfield's arm. “I don't want her to come back, Renfield.”

The other man looked over at him, eyes wide, then tried to push his hand away. “She-She-She won't. P-Promise. Vlad, please, can we just-”

“She came because you were upset,” Dracula said coldly. “And I do not want that to happen again. Do you understand, Renfield? I want you to be happy even though you are not...alive...” He looked away, feeling awkward.

Renfield sighed. “Okay, Vlad. I'll think about it - now can we stop talking about this?”

“All right.” Dracula nodded and smiled. Quietly, Renfield pulled away and reached for his coat.

“That reminds me,” he muttered. He pulled out his cell phone and moved his fingers on it with utter speed and grace. “Before the thing becomes worthless...”

Dracula peeked over his shoulder and watched as Renfield typed a single word under a terribly punctuated sentence: "so u know, im gonna b a quiltbag activst now."

 _thx,_ Renfield typed back.

Then he clicked a “send” button and the word went up in a little bubble with the other little bubbles. Renfield put the phone away and acted like nothing had happened. However, when he saw the Count's perplexed look, he stammered, “J-Johnathon,” and Dracula nodded, acting like he knew when he was honestly very confused.

“And it's four in the morning now,” Renfield added. “Too late to do anything, I guess.” He shrugged and leaned back, lightly kicking Dracula away. “Get your own sleeping bag, Vlad, these things aren't big enough for two.”

The Count pulled his own sleeping bag close to Renfield and laid back like the other man had, staring at the ceiling and counting the cracks. _One...two...three..._

They were both quiet a moment, then Renfield asked the most perfect, true question Dracula had ever heard come out of anyone's mouth.

“How the hell are we going to explain the schedule to Danny?”

Together in the dark, they laughed. A few minutes went by, and then Renfield began to breathe again and Dracula brushed his hair out of his face, unzipping the front of his shirt because the close, restricting leather had become uncomfortable. Renfield glanced over at him and licked his lips quietly.

“Renfield?” the Count asked.

“What?” the other man asked, raising his gaze and making eye contact.

“How... How did you meet that Danny fellow?”

Renfield stared at him a moment, seeming to consider something. Then he rolled over onto his side and propped himself up a bit, opening his mouth and talking about when he was a young man. He didn't offer a lot of details, but Dracula didn't care – Renfield was talking to him, and that was a satisfactory enough start for the Count.


End file.
